


sensational high/low

by grapefruity



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, inspired by Swoon by Beach Weather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8369728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapefruity/pseuds/grapefruity
Summary: “Just.. get outta’ here, forget I ever saw you,” The man huffs with a more sympathetic look before Kate sheepishly colors over with a smile and pulls him out, back amidst the crowd. He’s barely rebuttoned his shirt, and when he looks up, he just so happens to catch Billy’s questioning look.
Before he has time to process it (ha, he thinks again, how ironic, the speedster, too slow to catch on) she’s pulling him in another direction.
“C’mon,” Her tone is clear, instructional, and despite the loose strands of hair falling delicately around her powdered face, where faint traces of her lipstick still smudge the corners of her mouth, she commands the authority she has in the role of Hawkeye the Leader instead of Kate Bishop the Teenage Girl. “There’s another exit ‘round this way,”
 
[ or; the five times Kate and Tommy kiss, and the one time they don't have an excuse for it. ]





	

**i. i feel it when you’re underneath the skin**

 

The mission, as he recalls, is supposed to be simpler than this. Extract the files located in the secret cellar in the basement, get through the guards, report back to HQ. Not, wind up strapped up to a dingy little chair, his head groggy from the blow that still pounds throughout his scalp, and the drugs just clearing through his system. He makes a noise, and only notices that there’s someone else in the room. 

 

The figure startles, and if his hands weren’t annoyingly bound behind him, the element of surprise would be a great way to loot their weapons and try and reconcile the task at hand. There _is_ the option of just blowing the floor up and hoping it takes the thick cord off his wrists, but as had been brought up time and time again his uncanny habit for wanting to combust his way through difficult situations is ‘compromising’, as Elijah had once put it, creases between his brows. 

 

“You’re too serious,” Tommy had shot back, languidly popping another grape into his mouth.

 

“No, you’re just too reckless,” Eli had concluded, the rigid lines of his shoulders tightening before he had turned away, ending the meeting there. 

 

Now however, the thought of just, doing some damage to the property is inviting, especially since mystery figure is advancing on him and he’s going to have to think fast. ( _Ha_ , he thinks to himself, _I see what you did there Shepherd_.)

 

His fast brain is also his irrational brain, as Billy had pointed out one time -- annoyingly, he realizes now that a lot of his characteristics are tacky names stuck on him by his other teammates like cheap labels from a label maker -- and that is why involuntarily begins to shake, the cords around him heating up before-

 

“It’s me!” A familiar voice hisses. 

 

“Oh,” He says, stopping before he does something reckless. 

 

Kate’s hands work deftly against the restraints, her fingers nimble from years of practiced archery and precision before his joints come free and he rubs at the faint red lines where they had cut into his skin. “Thanks,” He adds, casting her a sheepish grin.

 

“Thank me when I save your dainty ass from this shit show,” She scoffs, helping him to his feet, her hands coming up to run along his shoulders, down his arms, capturing his wrists to turn them over for inspection. “You’ll be fine,” She murmurs, dropping his hands back to his sides and he can’t help but miss the touch, selfishly.

 

“Not for long,” He mumbles, the low click of booted heels from a far off distance, approaching gradually. “Sounds like we’re about to have company Hawkette,”

 

“Shit,” She curses, glancing over her shoulder. “They don’t know I’m back here, and from what I know they’re not the goons who threw you in here - they’re in the lab,”

 

“Got it,” He says with a quick nod, bracing his figure into a running stance. “So here’s the plan - I charge at them, take them out, try not to get whacked out and drugged again. First time was humiliating enough,”

 

The footfalls come closer and the rush of adrenaline he gets right before a fight courses steadily through him, as if it’s apart of his mutation. 

 

“No,” Kate says to his right and he falters. “I don’t- my bow isn’t with me, and that makes this vulnerable. I have a better idea,”

 

“Oh yeah? Like wh--” In a split second, he’s being yanked by his neck down to meet her, her hands running through his already messy hair to mess through the snowy locks, before it retreats to her own slicked hair, picking out pins here and there. And then, her lips crash into his.

 

There’s a muffled noise that comes from his throat before instinct takes over and his hands snake around her waist. He remembers the way she fits against him from guilty memory, of pulling her closer to him in the cold lift months ago to retrieve her bow, whereas now, she’s tugging him against her, urging him forward.

 

(He shouldn’t have kissed her that time, it wasn’t his place, and jealously, he knew the whole time he was just a tool for her to get back at Eli. Now though, now he can’t help but be swept up by it, feel every hot touch she slips under his shirt, pulling half the buttons down)

 

The moment is over as soon as it starts. She tastes like strawberries and peaches, and a little bit like whiskey sours. That’s all he has time to take note of before a gruff voice says, “You kids shouldn’t be back here,” 

 

Kate relinquishes her hold on him and they both turn to look at the intruder, Tommy’s surprise entirely authentic. “Oh-- we’re-- I’m so so sorry we just- we thought-” She stumbles, a thicker New Yorker accent ghosting her voice. Tommy for his part, has his lips parted, shirt partway opened, and hair a total mess. 

 

“Just.. get outta’ here, forget I ever saw you,” The man huffs with a more sympathetic look before Kate sheepishly colors over with a smile and pulls him out, back amidst the crowd. He’s barely rebuttoned his shirt, and when he looks up, he just so happens to catch Billy’s questioning look.

 

Before he has time to process it ( _ha_ , he thinks again, _how ironic, the speedster, too slow to catch on_ ) she’s pulling him in another direction. 

 

“C’mon,” Her tone is clear, instructional, and despite the loose strands of hair falling delicately around her powdered face, where faint traces of her lipstick still smudge the corners of her mouth, she commands the authority she has in the role of Hawkeye the Leader instead of Kate Bishop the Teenage Girl. “There’s another exit ‘round this way,”

 

He files it under another episode of, _this shouldn’t have happened, but I probably won’t forget it._

 

**ii. making me forget about the drugs, you poison with your love**

 

He feels dizzy, and his system feels jam packed with lead, and other substances that his brain knows shouldn’t be there. His body’s adrift in midair, and he can hear Billy’s nervous breathing, his erratic habit of picking at the collar of his cape from nearby. The awake part of Tommy’s brain also says, _you really gotta stop ending up like this._

 

Somewhere in between, none of his brain is awake.

 

Things drift by like an incoherent montage - his four year old birthday and the muffled shouting match conducted by his parents from the other room. His first time being sent to juvie. Being strapped down. Being prodded at. Being ripped open, being force fed, being treated like a lab rat--

 

“Tommy,” A voice urges from nearby and the touch of a palm against his forearm makes him jerk upright, breathing coming out in uncontrollable spasms. It’s not reality, still though, cruelly it just keeps going.

 

“Tommy,” A different voice echoes. “It’s just a little prick, won’t hurt at all,” There’s a cold glove on his arm, and he thrashes wildly in his place. “No point doing that son,” The voice chuckles, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. “We got you on lockdown skippy. You ain’t going anywhere,”

 

“Let me go,” He breathes irrationally. He knows it’ll do nothing but hey, he tries, he tries, he tries. 

 

“ _Tommy_!” The voice drifts back in and his mind is doing all sorts of loop-de-loops trying to keep up here. It’s feminine. It’s steady. It’s authoritative and commanding but somehow, empathetic. He both hates it and clings to it for dear life.

 

Mostly, because it kind of feels like someone dropped an entire building on his chest and it’s some miracle he’s still alive. (Cruelly, from the back of his mind, another voice says, it’s some small misery.)

 

“I need you to breathe,” Things swim into focus - the spring of the couch beneath him, the concerned blue eyes of his brother, the curtain of silky black hair just a fraction away from his face. “Tommy, hey, it’s just us, breathe, relax,”

 

He tries but instead just splutters and finds that his eyes water any time he takes another breath.

 

“It’s not working,” Billy anxiously mutters. “We -- we need to do something,”

 

“Tommy,” She’s gentler now, in that voice she uses for victims they’ve just rescued and it makes him shy away, makes him feel weak and used and _vulnerable_. “ _Breathe_. Please,”

 

“I--” He wheezes and the world swims back out again. Goddammit. 

 

There’s a panicked breath, and then the cool sensation of hands against his face, gentle and unfamiliar but so commonplace at the same time before her lips press against his. It takes him by surprise, but somehow it also doesn’t.

 

She moves tenderly against him, committing the curve of his mouth against hers to her memory and he does the same. She’s wearing vanilla lip balm, and she tastes a little bit like Barton’s brand of coffee. Suddenly, the world isn’t so hazy. Suddenly, he feels grounded. Secure, even.

 

It’s when his chest has stopped heaving so much and he’s no longer thrashing around like a lunatic that she pulls away, and he allows himself a second to glance up and meet her eyes, all sorts of startling blue. They get him every time.

 

“Figured out how to breathe,” He mumbles, a coy lopsided smile forming as he points at himself, and Kate goes as far as to spare him a wet laugh.

 

**iii. a psychadelic symphony you are (you are, to me)**

 

Frankly, a lot about the past few months have been... a blur, to put it simply. Which bugs him enough since usually, he’s the one that’s supposed to be the blur, not time like the cliche it is. Which is why when he pops up in a grass field, and there are all sorts of extraterrestrial teenagers and other superhero-looking kids his age pouring out of a building pulsing with music, he’s not even the least bit surprised.

 

Okay, he’s a little surprised he missed the invite but it’s whatever.

 

When he hustles his way in, his sleuthing skills tell him three things. One: It’s defintely New Years Eve, given the tackiness of the costumes, the festivities, and the music. Not to mention there’s actual flutes of sparkling cider going around and he’s feeling a little out of place since everyone is dressed for the occasion, and well, he’s just there in spandex and goggles. 

 

Two: The DJ looks suspiciously like the kid who tried to murder all of them one time and worse still, looks suspiciously like him. White hair, green eyes. Yeah, he’s maybe just a little affronted by this clear rip off of his style. It’s when he follows the brooding gaze of Tommy 2.0 that he comes to notice pointer number 3. He elects to ignore the fact that Tommy 2.0 is taller, not quite as skinny, and definitely buffer. 

 

Three: Kate Bishop is right there amongst the crowd, her signature purple pulled tight against her lithe form with a secured bun to accompany the look. _And_ a mask. It’s pretty hot, and it’s also a major sight for sore eyes and all he wants to do is make his way over and swoop her into an achingly long hug because something about this feels like a fever dream. Of course, he doesn’t. Doesn’t risk the offset chance of some cheesy line spilling out, like an “I missed you,” or a “I thought I’d never see you again,”

 

What he does do however, is let an unjustified instinct take over from the way his copycat is looking her over and ends up beside her in a split second. The surprise on her face makes it worth it, especially with how she splutters at his presence. It’s the fact that possibly, the most put together person he knows is standing there failing to comprehend him, makes him feel an odd sense of satisfaction he always craved from her.

 

So, he slips his hand into hers and pulls her into a dance, all toothy grins and boyish charm. (Tommy 2.0 can’t do boyish charm with how tall and.. buff he is. Score 1 to Shepherd.) “It’s New Year’s apparently!” He calls over the music, whisking her towards him. Her eyes widen comically, and he wants to whip out his phone and snap a pic, but he’s also content with just remembering this moment with his eyes. “Why are you not dancing?”

 

 

 

The spluttering however, asks a series of questions even he doesn’t quite know the answer to. (“You’re alive!”) (“How are you here?!”) He also doesn’t quite like the feeling that perhaps, everyone had moved on and he was coming late to his own funeral. 

 

So he just says, “Sorry! Can’t hear you over my awesome dancing!”

 

It’s only when she pulls her mask off that he sneaks a glance back at her. And this time he’s prepared for the way she glides over, her hand sliding over the nape of his neck. This time, he’s prepared enough to hold her around the waist and smirk down at her, his eyes gleaming with all the things his months worth of absence can’t even begin to cover. This time, when she leans into him, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks, he leans back and it feels like her way of saying _I missed you too._

 

**ix. got lost, losing sleep, you’re my fever dream**

 

Technically, this time they don’t kiss. Tommy’s not entirely sure if that’s for the better or for the worse. If Billy were here, he’d probably shrug his shoulders and say something along the lines of, _It’s neither. It’s neutral. Just like things always are between you two because you won’t kick yourself into making a move._ It doesn’t help that imaginary Billy also has Teddy slung around his side, giving a curt nod and a raised brow over a cup of coffee. The double affirmation is as far as Tommy is concerned, totally unnecessary. Neutral is good. Neutral is fine.

 

But technically, this isn’t exactly what he could call platonic either. Or, neutral. Clint’s apartment is a clutter of chaos, and Tommy relates to the haphazard organization of the place in a way that sits both comfortably and uncomfortably in the very pit of his stomach. He tries his best not to relate on any level to Kate’s mentor, the one who she rolls her eyes over but regards with a level of respect he bitterly recognizes is hard to come by in her case - but at the same time, as much as a mess Clint Barton is, he’s given her purpose.

 

Since Cassie’s death, they’ve all needed purpose. It just so happens that Tommy’s is split between regrouping the team and keeping Kate’s head propped on his shoulder before she smacks into the bowl of popcorn balanced on his thigh.

 

Her fingers are twined through his, where she had previously been sleepily tracing patterns into his palm, feeling out all the lines, crinkling her nose in short laughs every time he sensitively swatted at her hands and told her to explore her own palmistry. There’s a bandage over the bridge of her nose, and several bruises and scrapes marking her biceps and her thigh, where her pajama shorts ride up to reveal bare skin. He’s really doing his best not to stare but, for as charming and exceptional he may be, he’s still a teenage boy.

 

It’s also probably why he had appeared short of two minutes after Clint’s call, two boxes of pizza in his hold. 

 

“Wow, you really are Pietro’s nephew,” Clint says as a way of greeting, a low whistle sounding out as his brows peek higher towards his hairline. “Two boxes? Isn’t one pizza for each of you a bit of overkill?”

 

“I’ve got rapid metabolism,” Tommy shrugs back. “If I’m gonna babysit that monster you’re housing I’ll need my sustenance,” 

 

Somewhere from behind Clint, she scoffs, before she peeks her head over the older archer’s shoulder. “You? Babysitting me? Tommy, the only one here that needs _babysitting_ is you,” 

 

_Eat those words Hawkette,_ he thinks to himself, glancing down at her sleeping form. He knows for a fact that Kate, much like him, hates feeling vulnerable. For entirely different reasons of course, but principally similar. He takes a careful effort to switch off the television and scoop her into his arms in as featherlight a motion as possible, because letting her get the rest she deserves instead of waking her up and watch her gruffly upkeep the facade of sobriety is definitely a high priority. (It’s Clint’s too.)

 

He maneuvers easily through the mess on the floor, before he’s pulling the sheets over her, feeling a certain fondness creep back into the cavities of his chest despite the belief that he had crushed it out with the heel of his foot months ago. He pushes back a few strands of her hair, leans down, and presses a cautious peck to her temple.

 

Her hand catches his wrist and he nearly jumps clean out of his skin. “Stay,” She whispers so softly he strains to catch it. There’s a couple beats of hesitation before he gently crawls under the covers with her, maintaining a fair bit of distance between them. She takes it upon herself to close the distance and bury her face in the crook of his neck, before leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering long enough to make his breath catch.

 

When he wakes up in the morning and peels himself away from a still sleeping Kate, Clint greets him with a cup of coffee and a knowing look.

 

**iv. don’t you know you’re just another heartbreaker**

 

He’s pretty sure when Billy had implicitly stated to make a move, this isn’t how he intended for it to unfold. Not that that’s really a surprise— Billy is composed, whereas Tommy is unorganized. They’re each other’s binaries so it makes sense that their definitions on the matter vastly differ. The problem isn’t in the miscommunication, it’s in the failure to communicate.

 

Which is how Tommy ends up here, his hands clenched and shaking at his sides while Kate burns holes into his skull with her eyes. 

 

“What do you _mean_ I’ve been… unreadable. What the hell does that even mean? You can’t just drop these vague statements on me, get irritated, and then just.. run away! Like you _always_ do!” She spits, advancing on him with a couple steps closer. He wants to back down, throw his hands up in defeat and admit that yes, for all his prior heroism, he is truly a better coward than a superhero. He also wants to uncoil the tightening of every heartstring in his body and make sense of whatever the hell is happening in his life. _For once._

 

“It means,” He says, rolling his eyes, sarcasm thick in his tone. “That for the past couple of years we’ve just been, what, dicking each other around? And hey! I don’t blame you, in all honesty, anything serious and real scared the living crap out of me once upon a time!” He digs his teeth into his lower lip, sighs and looks away, scuffing his shoes against the ground for leverage.

 

“But it’s reached a point where I don’t— I mean, what are we? We’re friends, and then we don’t talk, and then we make out sometimes, and then you end up with someone else and that’s- that’s fine! I just need to know where we stand because I’ve never been one for puzzles Kate and you may as well be the walking definition of one to me!” He winces at the way his voice cracks at the last syllable, balls his fists up, and turns away from her. He wants to run, he wants to end up in Hong Kong, eating dim sum in a small hole in the wall as far away from all of this as he can be. He hates that he imagines her there with him.

 

“I—“ She begins and for a second, he thinks he hears guilt. Then, “You’re not exactly an open book either Shepherd,” He sneaks a glance over at her and the way she’s holding herself doesn’t help the constricting feeling he gets around her.

 

“I mean, hell, one minute you’re here and the next minute you’re not! Literally! And it’s not just because you’re fast, it’s because you’re vacant. You audaciously claim to be here, and then you disappear into the winds like you never were and that’s- that’s not fair!” Her voice, he notes, doesn’t crack. “Because you’re involved here as much as I am and if you wanted this to be anything, you had every opening to make it. But instead you just… sightsee. You browse through the catalogs and skim through the magazines but you never purchase,”

 

“I’m offended,” He says, turning back to her. “That you’re comparing this to a newsstand. Jeez, I thought we’d at least be like an upper scale bookshop, but you’re just going ahead and reducing us to a commonality,” How he finds it in himself to _humor_ her is beyond him, and the whiplash effect of regret sinks in a second later.

 

“You—“ She begins, eyes squeezing shut and brows furrowing. When she opens them again, there’s a determination there that he hardly sees, and then she’s yanking him forward and pulling her mouth hungrily against her own. They collide messily, with him stumbling forward and her backwards, and between the exchange, they end up on the pull out bed of Billy’s room where he usually sleeps. 

 

Her tongue sweeps against his mouth, and a smirk follows when the motion elicits a low groan from him, his hand frantically seeking purchase along her hips. He nips at her bottom lip and drags his teeth along it when he pulls back, and her face is beautifully flushed, dark hair fanned out against the mint green of his sheets. 

 

And then, the door clicks open. 

 

“Hey I’m— _wooooah_ okay, abort, _abort!_ ” Billy hastily exclaims while Tommy scrambles to get off her and ends up on the floor, groaning in pain this time.

 

“Bout time!” Teddy usefully supplies before they both descend down the stairs. 

Kate for her part, looks a little dazed, and also a little stunned. “I should go,” She blurts, and instantly his heart sinks. 

 

“We’ll talk,” She says, after she’s collected her things, glancing back at him. She looks guilty. It’d be easier if she didn’t. “I promise,”

 

He doesn’t bother explaining why she’s pushing past Billy and Teddy just two minutes later, doesn’t bother explaining anything really. 

 

**+i. so let me swoon over you**

 

Eventually, he decides to stop moping, and better yet, stop _running._ It’d be easier, he knows, to just forget it, let it pass, and wait until it happens again because this unspoken tension between them has fallen into a cycle doomed to repeat itself until it obliterates, and Tommy would take the cycle over the obliteration any day.

 

When he raises his fist to hesitantly rap his knuckles against the door, it swings open. 

 

“Jesus!” She exclaims the same time he jumps back. She has a deep purple pea coat on, and a lilac beret on her head. He’s got specks of snow all along his own coat, and flecks of it through his hair, though it’s hardly noticeable amidst the thicket of white hair wetly hanging down in front of his face. 

 

“Talk about perfect timing,” He mumbles, stepping back. “I’ll just come back another day, not like the commute’s any trouble for someone like me,” He can’t help the coy smirk he gives, the mannerism so embedded in the familiarity of banter with her that he fails to catch himself.

 

“No don’t,” She says, stepping towards him. “I was, um. I was actually going to come and see you?”

 

He blows a low whistle. “Wow, now this really is some type of B-grade romcom material,”

 

“Hey, I resent that sentiment, I’m pretty sure my presence would at least boost it to B+,”

“Nah, you’re the C and I’m the A, hence the B,” He laughs when she punches lightly at his shoulder, palms raised in defeat. “Alright, alright, maybe I’ll negotiate for an upgrade to a B- on your part. You better make a good offer though, budging me is like moving a mountain,”

 

“Lucky for you, I already had something in mind,” She quips, softer this time he notices. He also notices that his mouth dries and his cocky grin falters. And she says he isn’t an open book.

 

“Oh yeah?” He mutters, digging his hands into his pockets. “Because I’m not bought over that easily Bishop, I’ll have you know I’m _very_ picky,”

 

“You ransacked the fridge once and ate literally everything in it. Even the bittergourd,” She points out, cocking a brow, whilst she takes another step closer. For all the snow outside, it feels unusually warm where he’s standing.

 

“Ok,” He says, quietly. “You got me. I’m easily swayed,”

 

“Maybe you could pitch an offer instead? I assume that’s why you were here,”

 

She’s half an arm’s length away from him, her palms flat against his shoulders. “Maybe I’m here because I’m a sucker for pretty girls who insist on kissing me more often than they’d like to explain,” He confesses. “And maybe I’m here because I’d like to explain why I kiss them back,”

 

She’s quiet, but her eyes are imploring, so he takes it as his cue to continue. “Maybe I’m here because I realized this morning, ‘ _Hey Tommy, for someone who avoids baggage, this is one problem you can’t run from without totally hating yourself for it,’_ and that the reason I’d hate myself for it is because I’m maybe like, totally in love with you?” The last few words rush out faster than he intends, and it doesn’t help that he’s as pale as a sheet of tracing paper with all the color rising to his cheeks. 

 

“You’re in love with me?” She asks, but it feels like a statement. He nods, once, and holds her gaze. 

 

“That’s not fair,” She says, and he wants to sprint down the coast. “You stole exactly what I was going to say,”

 

“I— wait. Wait wait wait. Wait, what?” The comically large eyes make a return, and she returns them with a satisfied grin. “You— what?”

 

“You know what Shepherd,” She sighs, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek, thumb resting against his cheekbone. “Maybe, it’ll be better if I just show you,”

 

When she kisses him this time, all soft and gentle, pressing unspoken confessions to his inviting lips, for the first time in a long while, things make sense again. He tells her as much by picking her up around her thighs and punctuating the thought to every inch of skin that his mouth can reach. His mouth is hot and insistent but slow too, because there’s no need to rush. There’s no frantic discarding of their clothes, there’s no hurry to her bedroom. 

 

What there is, however, is the pieces all falling into place and the answer to a long unspoken question finally coming to light.

 

(Later, she traces the marks she’s made against his skin, nudges her nose against his cheek and whispers, _“If you look closely, these all spell out the answer you were looking for,”_ He traces her mirrored marks, until his hand rests against her hip, and says. _“Well, would you look at that. We match,”_ )

**Author's Note:**

> so! I haven't written any kate/tommy stuff for a long while and I have a fair feeling that my writing style has changed drastically since the last time I did -
> 
> that being said, this was awfully spur of the moment to the point where I just accidentally stayed up until one in the morning writing this until exhaustion kicked in and I published it, so sorry for any potential mistakes you might find!
> 
> the titles for each part are song lyrics from the song Swoon, by Beach Weather which is super awesome and totally sets the mood imo so check it out


End file.
